Talking

It used to be so easy to make the call

So easy to start the talking

Space here for several years of failing love

But now talking of what

Small talk to just keep talking

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Watercombe; Thirteen years and more ago

And today in my mind I am revisiting

Just for you, oh, and also for me

I came to this place

Almost twenty three months ago

Then, as now, the sky was blue

The river tumbled and splashed

Like a poet planted

Some time before the snow

Blue, blue, big blue Friday afternoon

Beside the lonely, the only one, the River Erme

In between the then and now

Turbulence has been maintained

Turbulent mind, turbulent body

Turbulent health, turbulent wealth

From landing to leaving

Things were fluid and rolling

My head was full of love, my body was tired or alive

I was ill, I was well, I was poor, I was paid

The sheep graze these windswept moors

Lambs born amongst the driving rain

Alongside the gorse and the reeds

A crop cut grass pleads to grow

Those crazy beasts keep on mowing

There love-stock are dropped and fawned

Where it’s rough it’s ready

Why should we ever misconceive

And the bleat breaks

That waterfall of springtime silence

Alone amongst a thousand acres

Chasing after mother, after mother nature

No more whingeing or whining

Springtime springs once again

In a world beyond the shoulder

Whatever we can believe, she can give more

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Reaping Rake

Your lips were shielded

My attempted kiss was fielded

I was at mid-on, you were in the deep

Have you lost the ache

Or did I make a mistake

Was another known, sown to reap

Your lips were dry

My finger tips did try

I was in a spot; you were playing a sideways shot

Have you lost the ache

Or did you make, on purpose take

A solemn aplomb chastity vow

Your body wandered

My advances squandered

I was seeping, you were wicket-keeping

Have you lost the ache

Or were you playing the long game

No time for a quick one, as slow coming she came

Your last defence was tested

Tip of tongue, engaging, redemption rested

Your lips moist to wet, tongue tip nest and set

Was it lust or just a mistake

Afterwards you, did you ache

One more fallen swollen reaping rake

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Escaping Away

It has been a busy day

I have escaped a long long way

Early on I was talking to Mr. Masefield

Resplendent in his business black suit

The cut was neat, lined with finest silk

The hair was brave, not a Locke did misbehave

He was with Elisabeth, is it Mrs. Stanhope Forbes

By the edge of the woods, turkey crop and scythe

They were wondering at the Moonlit View 

Of Mr. Francis Darby’s Eastern city

As they dared to forsake, partake

In Mr. Geoffrey Hill’s grinning cake

In the background, surround sound all around

Beside you, sang Mr Van Morrison, oh Astral Weeks

It has been a very busy day

I have escaped ever such a long long way

Journeyed almost as far as Camilla

Who married again, this day, today

I did not go to the service

I spilt my tears among the radio congregation

Tears of joy and there but for the grace of god go I

Or is it the North Wind

Blowing alongside the dust ball, to the canal basin

That which I am to engage with, in regeneration

A long term plan, you say

I retort, as if Capability Brown ever saw

His landscapes as anything more than nature

In full sway, in full public awe

Here in Weston Park, under the mid-day

Noon time dark

Clouds, clouds with Eastern rain

And Southern comfort

It has, as I say, been a long long day

I’ve escaped, escaped in a very busy way

Before meeting Mr Masefield

I’d scribed a few words of my own

Memories of yesterday’s funeral

Polish youth, in Polish dress, the Pope was thus blest

Memories of yesterday’s other funeral

The receivers set the works to rest

Oh and lest I forget

I’d imagined and spoken, words under my breath

I’d spoken, under my breath

Another day, escaping death

It has been such a long day

Escaping in many a different way

Unlike the child dying in St. James Hospital

By the Poet’s hand in the library compilation

‘Out of Fashion’ I recall the cover rolled

Although I did not study the small print

I did though take the flyer

To hire a china dragon, a dragon blowing fire

And I bought some books, go on, take a look

Yes it is John Stammer’s ‘Stolen Love Behaviours’

And Jackie Kay’s Life Mask, although I thought

The cover was an Eduardo Palozzi creation, it was in fact clay

And finally Scenes from Comus by Geoffrey Hill

Ticked by the Archbishop of Canterbury no less

It has been, as once again I say

It has been a long day

It is not yet noon, although it will be evening soon

Beneath the midnight of the moonlit moon

Except that today, yes today of all days

Today I am escaping away

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Sixteen’s the word

It has been sixteen years I’d say

Sixteen years I’ve been losing my way

It’s sixteen years

Sixteen years to the very day

And sixteen years before that score

Sixteen years plus some more

Another sixteen years

Sixteen years leading again, out of the door

Then sixteen years, before some more decayed

Sixteen years or more I’d stayed, stayed and played

With my mother and her lover of sixteen years

Sixteen years of unconditional love she gave

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